Memory Lane
by ClarySpeakman
Summary: Not very long, I know. But I simply could not resist writing of Will's hatred for ducks.


"Dear God," said Will, as he swirved aside out of the path of a gray-haired man who threatened to barrel him with his insistent pace and stocky build. The man brushed by, his eyes trailing on the concrete, and mumbled an apology as he glanced up, as if only noticing Will was there. "The Clave ought to renew the accords. For any mundane who dares to dishonour me will be executed immediately."

Jem grinned around his poultry pie, almost choking on its contents. "And I am positive," he said, "if that were to happen, we would serve no purpose here, for there would be no mundanes to protect."

"Hmm," said Will. "The Clave ought to hire me for the executing. I hear they are seeking handsome fellows to do their handiwork. 'Mundie, suffered fatal heart attack after witnessing a handsome fellow which later resulted in tragic death'."

They were walking through Hyde Park, moving skilfully through the throng in which surrounded them. It was a typical, gloomy day in London, the sky just a dull sheet of gray overhead, dotted several places with smears of black smoke rising from the factories in the far distance. Will couldn't help but glance at every girl who slipped by, comparing their features to Tessa, though nothing in their postures and their dull, tired-looking expressions resembled her. Tessa glided, whereas these girls were hunched and sagged forward, almost as if they were bearing an incredible weight on their shoulders. Ever since her arrival at the Institute, Tessa seemed to carry light with her everywhere she went. She could enlighten a room full of mourning mundanes with her presence, as opposed to these girls, zombie-like and half-dead.

"You're going crosseyed," observed Jem, giving him a sidelong look. "Why are you going crosseyed?"

Will looked at him now, and wondered what he'd looked like to him when he dwelled too much on Tessa. "I was just... thinking," he said, because it was true.

His friend rewarded him with a look of total astonishment, his half-eaten poultry pie poised in the air. A flicker sparked in his eyes, and Will knew what he was thinking: since when has Will ever thought about anything?

"Dare I ask what you are thinking?"

"Ducks," said Will.

He blinked. "What?"

"Ducks," repeated Will, and indicated the small huddle of squabbling parasites crowded beside the marble fountain in the center. A cold shudder ran through him, making his body quiver. He'd always hated ducks, ever since his elder sister, Ella, had marched toward the duck who'd been watching him through his bedroom window for days, unmoving. He remembered her lips shaping words he couldn't grasp, and the duck had waddled away. It had never returned after that, though the memory had always haunted Will.

Jem looked at him as if he'd suddenly begun to sprout antlers. His pie still lingered in the air, his hand steady, though he didn't seem to notice.

When he continued to stare, Will said, "You finished with that, or are you enjoying looking like a lunatic to our citizens?" He jabbed a finger at his pie.

He blinked down at it in his hand, and then back at Will. "You hate poultry pies," he pointed out.

"I also hate ducks," said Will. "Do you think it's possible to bread a race of cannibal ducks?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"Here," said Will, and seized the pie out of his parabatai's outstretched hand.

"Will, what are you-?" Jem began.

But he didn't get a chance to finish.

Will, contracting his right arm, thrust his hand forward. Angry protests rose from the throng as the poultry pie sailed through the air and landed amongst the ducks. A laugh bubbled in his throat as the parasites chirped and squabbled - and then they started toward them, waddling like drunkards.

Will gasped and grasped Jem's arm, and tugged him away from the advancing mallards.

Jem chuckled and shook his head as they headed back toward the Institute. "It seems," he said, "that the affect poultry pie has on ducks to transform them into cannibal mallards has worked quicker than I thought possible."

Will glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see fat little things pecking at his shoes. The mallards seemed to have disappeared into the throng.

He smiled, and drew his parabatai along with him.


End file.
